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She pondered her next move. Calling the police seemed the logical choice, but deep down, she knew the bitter truth – they were always steps behind. Not to mention, the police would get the truth out of her. That fateful winter night back in oh-three, or was it oh-four? She couldn’t even remember. All she remembered was luring the boy to the intended destination, meanwhile, Mark, Miles and James were lying in wait.
The details were blurry, muddled by time and guilt. But the essence of that night remained vivid in her memory. The cold bite of the winter air, the muffled sounds of their laughter, and the boy's confusion turning into fear. It was supposed to be a harmless prank, a rite of passage orchestrated by the popular kids of Lincoln High.
What followed was a combination of adolescent stupidity and the urge to impress. It was supposed to be funny, a story they would laugh about for years. But it wasn't. The boy was left there, alone and scared. For nearly two decades, not a day had gone by where she hadn’t wondered if the boy’s body was still there.
But the past had a way of catching up, and now it seemed to be hunting them down, one by one.
And while she could give the police the grim details and perhaps condemn herself to a life of imprisonment, she couldn’t tell them everything, because she didn’t even remember the boy’s name.
Over the years, she’d searched vague terms online to try and track this boy down but never had any luck. The lack of confirmation reassured her somewhat, and judging by the fact that four of her circle were now on autopsy tables, reaffirmed that she was right to believe this ghost boy was still alive.
Her contemplations were interrupted when she heard something scratching at her living room window, sending her heart rate into a pounding frenzy. A nail on glass, a skeletal finger dragging slowly, deliberately. She retreated into the safety of couch, but there was no sanctuary to be found here. She was alone, the nearest house a hundred feet away, the nearest friend even further.
For a moment, she considered ignoring the noise, dismissing it as a tree branch or some small animal. But the scratching persisted, more insistent now, as if whatever was out there knew it had her attention. Her breath caught in her throat; the air in the room felt thick, suffocating.
Gathering her courage, she moved slowly towards the window, making the journey on her hands and feet like an animal. She reached out with trembling fingers and drew the curtain slightly. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears, a frantic drumbeat in the stillness of the night.
There, pressed against the glass, was a face. Pallid, with sunken eyes that seemed to bore into her soul. It was a grotesque caricature of a human face, twisted by rage and sorrow. Its lips moved, but no sound came out, as if it was trapped in a silent scream. For a moment, her mind refused to accept the reality of what she was seeing. This couldn't be real. It had to be a trick of the light, a figment of her imagination.
But the figure didn't vanish when she blinked. It remained a ghastly visage that seemed to mock her disbelief. Panic surged through her veins, and she stumbled backward, tripping over a chair and landing hard on the floor. The impact knocked the breath out of her, but she couldn't afford to lie there, frozen in fear.
Scrambling to her feet, she ran to the door, fumbling with the lock. The scratching sound followed her, now accompanied by a faint, guttural moaning that seemed to seep through the walls. Her house, once her sanctuary, had become a tomb.
In her frantic escape, she almost missed the small, nondescript envelope lying on her doorstep. It was plain, save for the two words scrawled in a shaky, uneven hand:
OPEN ME.
A message. Were the rumors true? She’d read a news piece that said that this killer had taunted at least three of her friends with riddles before killing them.
For a fleeting moment, as she stood on the threshold, the impulse to run surged through her. The open fields around her house suggested a dark, albeit clear path to escape.
Her breath hitched at the thought of sprinting into the night, of leaving this nightmare behind. But then, the image of James Gorton flashed in her mind – the boy who had once been the love of her life, now a lifeless figure on his front lawn. He had been killed right at his doorstep.
The realization struck her with chilling clarity; running would not save her. Fleeing into the night might just lead her directly into the trap she was desperate to avoid.
Her heart racing, she snatched up the envelope and tore it open, her hands trembling.
Inside, she found a single sheet of paper, complete with a two-line riddle and a series of nonsensical words.
Your dead friends, I tried to forgive
Solve this puzzle if you want to live.
QIIX QI EX XLI TPECKVSYRH XIR TQ SV CSY AMPP HMI.
The realization dawned on her – this was the killer's calling card. Her thoughts spun into overdrive, weighing up what little options she had. She could try to solve the puzzle, try to outwit the killer at their own game. But deep down, she knew it was futile. This wasn't just a puzzle; it was a death sentence.
She glued her eye to the peephole and gazed out into the darkness. Her breath fogged up the small glass, blurring her vision, but she could still make out the eerie stillness of the night.
The scratching noise had stopped. In her limited peripheral vision, she couldn’t see anyone outside her house. The ghostly figure had vanished.
With the envelope clutched in her hand, her gaze flickered from the peephole to the paper. She remembered the weird boy from school – possibly the same person now hiding in the shadows outside - and how he’d try and communicate with written messages. He hadn’t changed. He was still pulling the same approach.
Maybe he still wanted to be their friend.
Her mind, a maelstrom of fear and desperation, struggled to focus on the cryptic symbols and words sprawled across the page.
Your dead friends, I tried to forgive
